A tribute to my Kitty Emeritus

I’ve been wanting to write about Kitty Emeritus for a while now. Kitty Emeritus is one of the many names for our dearly departed cat who died more than two years ago at the ripe old age of 19.

Her real name is Pickles. I almost never called her that; I had 2,051,942 nicknames for her. But it didn’t matter which name I used because she ignored all of them.

Pickles and I met on November 8, 1996, at about 6:00pm. That’s the night I went to the ASPCA to adopt a cat. I was in a room lined with wall-to-wall cages of cats and it felt like it would be impossible to choose just one. Finally, after looking at each cat, I decided on a very sweet male tabby. I was about to tell the ASPCA volunteer that I wanted to adopt him when I had this very strong urge to turn around.

I turned around and my eyes fell upon the center cage in the bottom row on the wall opposite me. Staring at me was a little grey face doing hypno eyes on me. For some reason I hadn’t seen this cat when I looked at all the cats earlier. I walked over to that little grey face and read the tag on the cage. She was a 6-year-old girl, which was perfect because I wanted an older cat. They opened her cage so I could see her better. I picked her up and she just sat there in my arms, purring. And I said, “I’ll take her.” I had no choice. I mean, she had done hypno eyes on me. What else could I do? I had to adopt her. It was as simple as that.

That was the beginning of the best 13 years of my life. She was my little friend, my little companion, my little roommate, my little banshee, my little teddy bear.

She was the smartest cat I’ve ever had, and also the pissiest. Just like me, Pickles was a cranky broad. She was 16 pounds of pure attitude. She had a dead-eye stare that could make the temperature in the room drop about 20 degrees. She didn’t like the smell of people food and it didn’t take much to set her off. Any sort of cooking—even mild foods like toast, scrambled eggs, spaghetti—was enough to get her wailing and crawling under the covers to escape from the noxious fumes. When it was bedtime, she got annoyed if I strayed too far over to her side of the bed. She’d look at me as if to say, “Really? Do you value your life that little?” Once I awoke in the middle of the night to the very peculiar sensation of being shoved by a furry mass. Pickles was using her back feet to brace herself against the side of the bed, trying to push me out of her area. She’d make little snorts and snuffles to express her displeasure with me. When I laughed at her it pissed her off even more.

She was not your typical cat. She didn’t like toys or catnip. Soon after I adopted her I tried to engage her with one of those toys dangling from the end of a string. She swatted it out of her way with a look that said, “Get this annoying thing out of my face.” She couldn’t be bothered with the things that normal cats enjoy. She was above all that juvenile nonsense.

One thing that Pickles loved, though, was men. She tolerated me, of course, but she loved men. Every night I’d let her out of the apartment for her evening constitutional in the hallway (always closely supervised by me). I lived in a walk-up building and over time everyone in my building knew her by name. She always gravitated toward the men. She flirted with them, curling her fluffy tail around their legs. One of my upstairs neighbors, a WWII veteran named Joe, was enthralled with her. Every time I saw him he’d ask, “How’s my furry little girlfriend?” And he knew her name but not mine.

Then there was the night I woke up at about 3am because of a commotion in the hallway. Pickles and I went out to see what was going on. Someone had called the fire department and a bunch of firemen were going up and down the stairs. One of them was standing near my door, talking on his radio. My cat, being a brazen little hussy, marched right over to him and rubbed against his legs. The fireman leaned over and started petting her, all the time still talking on the radio. Pickles was thrilled. To this day I wish I could have taken a photo of that scene.

And then there were the times when she and I would just hang out. We’d zonk out together on the couch. Sometimes she’d sleep on me with her head tucked right under my chin. Sometimes at night she’d lie next to me and rest her head in the palm of my hand. She trusted me. And I’m pretty sure she knew I loved her more than anything in the whole wide world.

When Mr. Weebles entered the picture, Pickles accepted him immediately. That’s how I knew he was a keeper. But Mr. Weebles wasn’t quite sure what to make of her at first. I told him, “Trust me, you’ll like her. She’s very charming.” Sure enough, within a very short time he too was under the spell of Pickles. And when the three of us moved in together, she had no trouble adjusting. Actually, that’s not entirely true—she never did accept the fact that Mr. Weebles was now taking up her side of the bed. That always stuck in her craw. But she loved him anyway.

I still marvel at the fact that she made it to 19; she had more medical problems than any three cats I’ve ever had. But she was a tough old gal, she took a licking and kept on ticking. She never had simple ailments—they were always complicated disorders that cost a fortune to diagnose and another fortune to treat. Fatty liver, bladder stones, pancreatitis, hyperthyroidism, heart murmur, gall bladder problems, tooth infections, kidney insufficiency, special dietary needs . . . if only I could have deducted her and her medical expenses on my tax returns.

Of course the day came—January 12, 2010—when her medical conditions and old age caught up with her and it was time for me to let her go. Mr. Weebles and I were with her until the very end. I have no doubt that it was the right thing to do, at the right time. I think Pickles knew it was right too—I just have that feeling from the interaction between her and me during those last minutes. It felt like she was saying, “It’s okay, it’s time.”

So now she’s in the Great Catnip Patch in the Sky (not sure why I keep calling it that since she didn’t like catnip). I like to think she’s having a wonderful time bossing people around and charming all the gentlemen. We have three other cats now, the Weeblettes. They’re nothing like the sophisticated, redoubtable Pickles—they’re very playful, silly, and catlike. I love them to pieces. But Pickles is and always will be my special girl. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her and smile. And I will miss her every day for the rest of my life.

I’ve written most of this with tears streaming down my face. I cry because I miss her like crazy, but mostly I cry out of joy. Joy because I had her with me for as long as I did. Joy because she made my life so much better. Joy because I was lucky enough to have such an incredible connection with such an extraordinary creature. And joy because I know that someday I’ll see her again.

Very difficult to lose a pet, especially one who has become such a member of the family. I love cats, but given my husband’s severe allergies, we can’t have one. I have to get my cat loving from my mom’s whenever I go visit.

This is a very timely post. I just had my Cozette put to sleep on June 21st. I feel your love for Pickles and know that pain of separation. I like to think that when we cross over all our guys will be there to greet us. I know we’ll see them again. I know that you and Pickles were connected. That fateful day when you saw her at the ASPCA, well, it was written in the stars.
Thanks for sharing that memory.

I’m so sorry, Grippy. It’s a very very sad and difficult thing to go through. But I’m glad you had the joy of having Cozette with you. And Cozette is such a cute name—I’m sure Pickles is showing her around and giving her the grand tour.

And now from the “i shit you not” files — i have a canine life partner. have had him for 11 years and he is my soul mate. Adopted a rescue chocolate lab… with a horrid name. And the kids and i knew we had to rename him because “Lando” was a bit wrong for this beast. So it became “Mr. Pickles”. i genuinely shit you not…

The trailer park cousin-lettes who’d bought this dog named him after Lando Calrissian. The only person of color they could think of. i might have let the name stand had it been “Billy Dee”, but that doesn’t fit this critter either. i was trying to convince the kids that he was an “Astro”. it was when my daughter asked one of my son’s sk8rboy friends what to call him. He cocked his head (the sk8rboy) and said “Pickles”. The girl said “MISTER Pickles”, and the name was affixed.

he is the only man who routinely gets to stay in the passenger side of my bed. there will be no others, i think…

Billy Dee would be a great name for the right dog but I do like Lando Calrissian as a name too. But if it’s not the right name, it’s not the right name. I like how Mr. Pickles got his name. In hindsight, I didn’t necessarily name my Pickles correctly because “Pickles” feels more like a name for a playful, whimsical cat. Which she was not. But in a way it makes it funnier because of the irony. Not that she would have found it funny, mind you.

Meanwhile if any other male permanently makes it to the other side of your bed, I’m sure you’d only let him hang out there if he’s earned it the way Mr. Pickles has.

I can understand how a cat could get to you like that. It’s amazing that even though we don’t speak the same language there can be so much communication going on.

In a previous life I was part owner of several cats, most with some sort of nine-lives story. I’ve never really like dogs since one of the tried to rip my face off, but cats are good. The first cat we was called Tiger because he loved to use his claws on everything, arms, legs, drapes, furniture, and absolutely anything irreplaceable. But when he disappeared for 10 days I kept walking into the kitchen utterly convinced he would be waiting by his food bowl.

One of my favorite pieces of poetry is Macavity The Mystery Cat. Maybe it could be adapted …

Wonderful piece – and a fitting tribute to your special feline family member. As you probably know, I am totally attached to my cats and think every day of my kitty emeritus, Meggie. Like Pickles was for you, Meggie was my girl. I will say that Cielo and Leo are right up there, too. I feel so blessed to have them in my life as I do having had the privilege of sharing my life with Meggie, too. Thanks, MW. Cathy

Thank you so much, Cathy—I do know how attached you are to your kitties. Even though they’re all special, there’s always one that’s just a little more special. It really is a privilege to have them in our lives–that’s the perfect way of phrasing it.

I’m another one with super severe cat allergies which sucks because I do like cats even though when I’m around them, I can’t pet them and depending on the type of cat, it’s very possible that I’ll need to enter an iron lung within 10 minutes. Yet, I know what it is to love a pet. I was very attached to my childhood dog, Mean Streak, and still mourn his loss even though he’d be almost 301 in dog years if he was not pissing on the great fire hydrant in the sky right now. Pickles sounded wonderful. Great post.

Mean Streak had a great rapport with fellow animals and was the only dog in the neighborhood that was welcomed by cats. I’m sure he and Pickles know each other. It was people that Mean Streak despised especially the letter carrier and the UPS guys.

Fantastic tribute, and things rarely break my cold heart 🙂 She sounds like an amazing cat, there is a special cat for every owner, same story here, when I got mine fostering she was in her cage from the vets and I didn;t like her colouring, I thought I’d had nicer cats, but as soon as she was home it was immediate, and it fell into place immediately. She also only likes men too, she’s a bit of a tart.

Welcome back, Joe!! I hope you enjoyed your vacation. It’s nice to hear your girl is a bit of a tart too—Pickles was a tramp and I was so proud of her for that. It’s so funny how people end up with the right pets. Like there’s some sort of Divine Pet-Owner Matchmaker up there. It just works out the right way.

I read this beautiful story with many tears! I totally identify. I still miss my Sphinx madly. And I still tear up thinking of him, in all his ornery special-ness. I miss my other furry friends, too, of course. But, in this life, there will never be another Sphinxie.

Madame, this is so wonderful. I know I would have loved Pickles too. She sounds like one of those very special pets. When I found Baxter, my first dog, it was similar to what you experienced. I’d named him before I met him and was just waiting for him to arrive. When I locked eyes with him, I said out loud, “That’s Baxter.” He looked at me as if to say — “Hi Mom, I knew you were coming.” So this enduring love you feel for her, I so get and here’s to your sweet little girl. She lived a good long, loved life and I’ll just bet you and she will zonk out together again one day. Cheers to Pickles!!

Katie and Spot the Wonder Cat – that was the ticket for us. Both adopted us.
Katie was a grown cat who came to our back window, captured our hearts (as well as all the neighborhood’s) and then she choose us as her people. We tried to return her to her original family, but she came back immediately and that was that. My husband climbed many a tree “rescuing” Katie until Spot came along. The dynamic duo = double the loving 🙂
Kitty love, nothing else like it. I’m so sorry for your sadness from loss and longing, but glad you shared it.
If you’re up for another kitty love story my “Best Mother’s Day EVER” might give you a smile. xo Nikki

I just read “Best Mother’s Day EVER” — so cute!!! I love stories like that. I would have loved Sly and Sir, I’m sure. And Katie and Spot sound great—sometimes it just clicks and that’s just the way it is. I do miss Pickles but the sadness is usually more than offset by how happy I get by thinking about her. She was a spoiled, spectacular cat.

Never gets easier. Unfortunately and fortunately, due to my wife’s allergies and her lack of desire for more nasal roto-rooter surgery, we don’t have any plans of getting another cat … but that doesn’t mean we wouldn’t like to have one.

There’s nothing more amazing than that telepathic connection. I was lucky enough to have it twice in my life, but I’m catless now. After my last furry friend died of cancer, I just couldn’t bear to start again. Wishing you much joy in your current furry buddies, and in your special memories.

It’s so true about that telepathic connection. I’m sorry about your furry friends, Diane, I know how hard it is to even think about having another one after you’ve had to say goodbye. Sometimes it’s just too much.

awww, Weebles – that was such a sweet post. You teared me up at the end…I have 3 rescue dogs and they are so special and important to me. I had a cat named Daisy for a long, long time – I lost her a few years back..it was very hard. (you’re awesome)

Aww, thank you so much, whitelady. I know how hard it must have been for you to lose Daisy, and I’m so glad you have your 3 rescue doggies. Animals are so wonderful. It’s no wonder I like them better than people.

Pickles was awesome. You are so blessed that she adopted you. My own boo boo kitty has been gone for almost three years now, but I still miss him so much (he made it to 17). Thanks for this, in spite of the fact that it made me cry.

You’ll totally see her again! Pickles sounds like an amazing girl. I love her little attitude and her body! So fluffy and sweet! RIP Pickles! My family’s cat just passed away so she and Pickles are probably playing together right now! 🙂

Our little Thor moved on to the big dog run in the sky four years ago. To this day, in moments of stillness, I can feel him walking around me and snuggling behind my knees as he liked to do. At first I thought it was our kitty, Chi, making the rounds…but it wasn’t. I hope Pickles comes to visit! Although we know they’re never really gone, we sure miss their snuggling! xoM

We could all only be so lucky as to have a tribute to us as such. I don’t know if that sounds like Abraham Lincoln or Dr. Seuss before he knew how to properly rhyme.

I like how you point out her love of men. I’ve found this with all animals. They always like the opposite gender more. My female dog I had as a kid loved me. She would put her head between my legs and shake it (no, stop being gross and thinking that way). The male dog will barely let me hug him. He loves me but he also gets more upset when a chick is around. He was a mama’s boy. I think that’s why.

Thanks, Mooselicker—it must be a pheromone thing that transcends species. They’re so funny when they’re so overt about their preferences.

Meanwhile you have no idea how much I want to translate the Gettysburg Address into Dr. Seuss-speak right now because of your comment. I may have to do that for my next post because I can’t stand it, it’s killing me.

Wow–this was really lovely. It may or may not surprise you, but I do have a sentimental streak, and I have great affection for people who hold their pets in high esteem (I don’t mean crazy, co-dependent cat-lady or “my dogs are my kids!” people), as a valued member of the family. I also note that you and Mr. Weebles took financial responsibility for Pickles, by helping to keep alive a critter that was clearly not going to die until she was good and ready. It sounds like she had a lot of personality, charming city firemen and crusty (I’m sure he was anything but, actually) old WWII vets.

In the fourth grade I got my first dog, Winchester, an English springer spaniel. He was the best dog ever–super-smart, protective and fun. He got hit twice, and my mom spared no expense on his care, even though we weren’t in the best financial circumstances at that time. My mom brought Winchester to California to see me graduate college. A few months later, it was time to put him down. She had the vet come to the house to do it, and then my mom took Winchester’s body and buried him (illegally!–my mom was awesome) in a wooded area where he loved to play. Winchester’s been gone a long time now, but I see him every day in a framed 8X10 hanging in my office. He was a very good dog.

Winchester sounds like an excellent doggy. I’m glad you can see his photo every day. I had one of Pickles in my office too. I can imagine how your family spared no expense for his care just like we did for Pickles—I would have lived on bread and water if I had to in order to make sure she was taken care of. And you’re right on both counts—Pickles had a big, big personality, and my veteran neighbor upstairs wasn’t crusty at all, he was one of the nicest guys you’d ever want to meet.

Sounds good to me! My husband is mildly allergic though, and my father-in-law is very allergic. We might eventually get one, but honestly, I’m not ready now. I need to get regular stuff done first, before I add changing a litter box.

Dear Perfect Weebles,
What an amazing post.
I’m allergic to cats..but I love em.
We had a small toy poodle named Millie. My husband and I got her 10 years before we had children.
She was my baby. Literally.
But then, kids came. She got older, and grumpier.
She nipped at them, with what few teeth she had left, and it made me so unhappy with her.
She just kept getting older and grumpier, and I found myself getting more and more frustrated with her.
On my 36th birthday, I let her out to go potty. We had been watching her closely, because her eyesight was getting bad…and she couldn’t always find her way back to the door.
That day was crazy. We had a repairman working on our furnace. I had a one year old running around, and I let her out.
I didn’t watch her.
She never came back.
I called my husband in tears. He rushed home from work. We had the whole neighborhood looking for her.
No one did.
It was horrible.
Horrible.
One of my friends, is friends with a good psychic. She’s not weird. If she can’t sense what you are wanting her to zero in on..she’ll say so.
I called her…desperate for help.
She said the day Millie got lost, the reason we couldn’t find her, was that someone picked her up. This person actually knew us, and had judgemental feelings in the way of …I never should have let our poor little poodle out unsupervised. (I shouldn’t have.) And they took her.
She didn’t live much longer. (She was 18 years old)
But that Millie left that day…as a birthday present to me.
She knew how conflicted I felt about having her around my babies, who she took to biting every now and then, and she gave me a gift.
She told me to wait for a dream.
About a month and a half later, I had the best dream.
Millie came home. Was scratching at the front door.
She was young again. And she licked my face, and I told her how sorry I was.
Then I woke up.
Now *I’m* crying.
It was the best gift ever, that dream. And I know it came from Millie.
♥
Love, lis
xoxoox

I’m almost crying too… Cats are wonderful creatures. Never say animals are stupid… Especially this one seems to be way smarter than any human being. She sounds as one kick-ass cat, and you’re a lucky bastard to have known her!

Awww, it’s so hard. I lost my doggie Reuben this year. He was a fabulous dog. He was a bit stupid but really handsome, and I always said if he were a human, I would marry him. Heck if you want you can read about him here http://limmster.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/theres-something-about-reuben/ I love when people write about their pets. It’s means there’s more to us 🙂 *hugs* x

I just read your post about Reuben, limmster. I’m so sorry. What a heartbreaker, losing him after having him for such a short time. But they become permanent fixtures in your heart pretty immediately, don’t they. He and Abi really looked like twins. I’m sure Reuben and Pickles are having a wonderful time upstairs right now. 🙂

I think I got a piece of sand in my eye or something. I am definitely not tearing up for any other reason. Not because I lost my favorite kitty in the world in June 2010 at the ripe old age of 18. And not because you beautifully articulated why special cats are just so special.

It’s allergy season, speaker7. That’s why I was tearing up when I read this again this morning. And I am not tearing up thinking about you and your special kitty or because I know how you feel. No. I am not.

This made me cry so hard. Thanks for sharing. Her pictures match your description of her personality exactly. I really feel like it is our destiny to have certain pets, so I feel validated that you feel this way too. My current cat came up to my boyfriend’s doorstep (out in the middle of nowhere) when he was a teeny tiny kitten. Having lost his family, he was traveling with a deer. I really feel like God sent him to us.

Hey J-Bo! Her personality was EXACTLY what you see in those photos. She was awesome. And yes, I do think pets choose you, and that it’s just meant to happen certain ways. Whether it’s a cat doing hypno eyes on you at the ASPCA or a kitten showing up at your boyfriend’s door. It just happens because it’s supposed to. Give that kitty a big kiss from me, okay?

I’m so glad you shared this again since I have only recently “found” you.

First, I’m so sorry for your loss. Those furry little creatures get their claws into our heart and just wrap their furry bodies all over our soul, don’t they? Talk about cat hair everywhere!

Second, what a beautiful tribute. I love how you looked in her eyes, and You Just Knew. It’s said that we don’t pick our cats, they pick us. She obviously deemed you worthy, and she was right.

I said goodbye to my longtime kitty companion recently after nearly 17 years. She was with me through thick and thin, literally as our weights increased and decreased, and like Pickles, she never seemed to sweat the trivial stuff like toys and catnip. She too saw me through many boyfriends, and after one left the door open while I was out of town once letting her escape (later found in a bush outside), she told me in no equivocal terms to get rid of the bozo. And I did. I miss her every day too.

Her younger 13.5 year old “brother” now sticks to me like glue. He misses her too, but is bound and determined to keep me company.

Thanks for this beautiful post and for reminding me of my own persnickety kitty. I hope today finds you smiling…

I’m very sorry for your loss too, Christy. It’s just as bad as losing a human member of the family, sometimes even worse. Your description of being with your girl through thick and thin sounds just like me and Pickles. She saw me through a lot of bozos too. You phrased it beautifully, how they “get their claws into our heart and just wrap their furry bodies all over our soul”–that’s exactly it. In my life I’ve loved many wonderful humans and animals, but none as much as my Pickles.

So you glad you re-blogged this. What a lovely tribute to your cat. We’ve said goodbye to a few animal members of our family, too. It is so very hard. I’ve always been amazed that I cried more over our dogs than I did when my dad died. I think it is because they rely on us 100% and they love unconditionally. There is no other feeling like it.

You clearly have not met the right cats, Becky! Although Pickles was rude and obnoxious at times, it was just part of her charm, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. May you encounter many wonderful cats in your future!

Awww – what a beautiful post. I felt that way about my cat, Charcoal (gray cat as well)…she was the smartest most interesting cat I ever had. There must be something about gray cats – That’s pretty amazing that she was around for 19 years.

My “Pickles” was a little more cat-like. As a youngster, she would climb the bookcase and then launch herself from one high surface to the next, including the top of any door that was ajar. The end is never easy, but like you, she and I knew when it was. She, too, was 19 and suffering. I held her was she went. Ok, now I’m crying, too. To Pickles and (it embarrasses me to admit) my Sharona.

Ah man, this is such a lovely post. We got two cats while we were living in Cyprus, and brought them with us when we moved to England about 9 and a half years ago. Smokey was pretty old when we acquired him, the smartest thing on four legs and a yowl like a fire alarm. We got Tiger when he was born on the doorstep of a friend of my mum’s – he was BEAUTIFUL and cuddly but not much going on upstairs. Tiger got killed on the road outside our house within a year of us moving, and we had to let Smokey go a couple of years later, when he was 21 because his kidneys were failing and he was just too old. I loved them a lot. I’m pleased that you got more cats – lots of people never want to get other pets after a particularly beloved one.

Hi, littlenavyfish! I know a lot of people ho never got another pet after the loss of a really special one. I understand it, because the pain of loss is so great. But there are so many animals who need good homes, I know I’ll always have pets. I’m so sorry about Tiger, that must have been awful. But I’m glad Smokey had a good long life. 21 is incredible.

She wasn’t a Persian, Becca, I don’t actually know what kind of cat she was. The vet said she was just your basic longhair cat, no specific breed. But I’ve heard that about Persians, being prone to kidney ailments. Sweet baby Linus, I’m so sorry.

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